"Control, give, sympathise: these three must be learnt and practised: self-control, charity, and sympathy."
Oriental Saying.
Althea was glad of a few minutes' quiet to recover herself, for she felt agitated and shaken. The sight of that comfortless sick-room, and Everard's worn face and haggard eyes, oppressed and saddened her.
A perfect passion of pity for him and his motherless girls swept over her as she closed the door. She had left the room in answer to a wistful, pleading look from him; her presence there evidently troubled him, and he was unwilling for her to run any risk. It was kind, it was friendly of him, she thought. Everard always had a good heart; but at that moment her impulsive, highly wrought nature only yearned to show her sympathy in action. In spite of her sensitive nerves, she was constitutionally brave, and had no fear of any form of illness. "We shall only die when our time comes," was a favourite saying of hers, and neither she nor Doreen shirked anything that met them in their daily path of duty.
Mollie was very ill, there was little doubt of that, and she would probably be worse. The sight of the sweet, flushed face, and the remembrance of the poor, thick voice would haunt her, she knew; and there was Waveney——But at this point the sound of a hansom driving up rapidly dispersed her gloomy thoughts, and the next moment Lord Ralston entered the room.
"We have got her!" he said, triumphantly,—"Nurse Helena, the best and cleverest nurse in the Institution; and she will be here in ten minutes. I saw the matron, and there is another one coming at eleven to-morrow. I shall go round to Dr. Duncan's house presently, and have a talk with him. We must have Sir Hindley Richmond down, I am determined on that."
"Why not wait for to-morrow?" returned Althea, quietly. "You are so impetuous, Moritz. There is no need for you to see Dr. Duncan to-night. Poor dear Mollie is very ill—I have just seen her; but good nursing and the proper remedies may do wonders. Wait until to-morrow—it will be far better; and tell me what has become of Noel."
"He is up in his room putting up his things. I am going to take him round to Eaton Square directly. I shall stay there myself for the next week or two. And you really saw her, Althea? Is she—does she look very bad?" Moritz's anxiety was so intense he could hardly bring out the words.
"She is evidently in great pain," she returned, slowly. "It is impossible to judge at this stage. But she was able to speak to me. Moritz, she asked me to give you this; it was put away in a drawer, and she told me where to find it!" and Althea handed him the little white parcel.
"For me! are you sure it is for me?" he asked, breathlessly. But Althea, with a faint smile, only pointed to the direction, for, in Mollie's sprawling handwriting, was very lightly inscribed: "Mr. Ingram, with Mollie Ward's good wishes." Nothing could be more correct or proper. Then why did Lord Ralston's eyes brighten so strangely, and why did a sudden smile of tender amusement come to his lips? Because his keen scrutiny had detected something that Althea had not perceived—two half-obliterated letters before the "good": "lo"—he could make that out plainly. "With Mollie Ward's love"—that was what she had meant to write, until her maidenly scruples, and perhaps some sudden self-consciousness, induced her to change the inscription.